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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24241522">Galderak, erantzunak</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/korereapers/pseuds/korereapers'>korereapers</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>FE3H fic series [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Cultural Differences, Dimidue Week (Fire Emblem), Fictional Religion &amp; Theology, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 20:13:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,315</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24241522</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/korereapers/pseuds/korereapers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dimitri asks, Dedue answers.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Dedue Molinaro</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>FE3H fic series [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1773310</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Dimidue Week 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Galderak, erantzunak</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Happy dimidue week! This fits both day 1 (longing) and day 2 (transitions) so here it is!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The first time Dimitri asks about it, Dedue doesn’t really know what to answer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They have known each other for some months now, almost a year, and while Dimitri has always been nothing but sweet to him, Dedue knows the sentiment is not shared by everyone else, to put it mildly. He hears the bitter remarks, venomous comments that he pretends not to hear, but that burn deep inside. They make his stomach hurt, his heart dizzy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“May I…” he says, doubtful. He can speak the language of Fódlan perfectly, like most Duscurian do. Or did. He tries not to think about it too much. He still has an accent, though, which embarrasses him to no end. Dimitri tries to speak in Duscurian with him, sometimes. It’s a little rusty, but Dedue appreciates the effort. “May I ask you to repeat your question, your Highness?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dimitri frowns, and then sighs. He seems to be doing that a lot lately. His health is still not the best, his wounds not fully healed. Dedue opens his mouth, to tell him not to overexert himself. He thinks about Dimitri’s wounds, the one he got protecting him. A part of him feels raw, passionate. He wants to feel those wounds under his fingertips, as if his gentle touch was enough to help them heal. His face gets hot, and he says nothing. He keeps looking at the flowers in the royal garden, as if they had all the answers to his questions.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dedue is fifteen, and he has never been in love. He doesn’t quite understand the feeling, not yet. Devotion, though, is easier.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I told you. I liked it better when you called me by my name. When we could just be…” Dimitri trails off, but Dedue is too busy trying not to combust internally.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He straightens his back, trying to keep his composure. Dimitri just looks at him with his sad eyes, and Dedue wishes, even if for a moment, that things were different. Then, his sight moves to an empty space on Dedue’s side, beautiful eyes both confused and terrified. Dedue has seen that expression often since they met back in the day. He doesn’t quite get it, not yet. He still knows what he has to do.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You were asking me something, your Highness.” he reminds him, and Dimitri’s eyes are on him again, not without some seconds of confusion.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Apologies. I was, wasn’t I?” he mutters, clearly not remembering his question. Suddenly, his expression lightens up, and Dedue cannot suppress a smile. “Of course! I was asking you about Duscur, wasn’t I?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dedue nods, humoring him. Sometimes, it pains him to remember. Dimitri makes it a pleasant experience, something to share, to teach, to learn from. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Whatever you want to know, I shall answer.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dimitri makes a humming noise, as if thinking very deeply. His expressiveness is something that Dedue envies, sometimes. Dimitri is like a storm, like a river with a flow so strong that it threatens with overflowing. He is there, though, solid enough so Dimitri has someone to hold onto.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So loneliness isn’t as lonely, for either of them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your haircut, for example.” Dimitri finally says, but then makes a startled expression. “If the question isn’t too invasive, of course.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He apologizes like three times, and Dedue looks at him with so much fondness that it’s a miracle that Dimitri hasn’t noticed. The prince isn’t bright, sometimes. Other times, he can be outright oblivious.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It comes from traditional haircuts, I believe.” Dedue isn’t entirely sure, he hasn’t thought about it too much, but he knows of the stories the old men and women used to tell. He hadn’t given them much credit, not until now. You don’t really think about your own culture too much until someone asks you about it. Or until it doesn’t matter anymore. “They are-... they were related to fertility, and social status. You could tell if someone was unmarried and available only by looking at their hairstyle.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dimitri nods, his eyes wide, as if telling him to continue.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It changed with age, too. The elderly didn’t have the same hairstyle as the children, for example.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dimitri makes a noise, somewhere between understanding, appreciative, and surprised. So, so emotional that Dedue actually has to keep himself in check not to hug him close.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you alright?” Dimitri asks, and Dedue realises that his eyes are wet. He swallows, hard, burying all of his sadness deep, where it cannot reach him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine. Is that all?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dimitri’s eyes are a little wet, too, but he doesn’t cry, either. His legs are tense, and Dedue knows he must be tired. Still, Dimitri doesn’t complain.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can be honest with me, Dedue. Do my questions bring you any pain?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His voice sounds low, fragile. Dedue knows for a fact that </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>isn’t.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” he answers, because he could never lie to him like that. “But I am willing to share it all with you, nevertheless.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dimitri blinks, perplexed, his face a little tense.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dimitri sounds like this, at times. Like the child he is, the children they both are. Something so tender and bright that warms Dedue’s whole body. Where there is light, there is darkness, though.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dedue wants it. He wants it all. Even if it’s selfish.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Because I trust you. I trust the kind of man you are, and the kind of man you will become.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not selfish </span>
  <em>
    <span>enough</span>
  </em>
  <span>, though. Dedue is fifteen and he doesn’t understand love, not yet. Not like this. There is something unsaid, and Dimitri seems to be able to feel it, because his blue eyes are </span>
  <em>
    <span>almost </span>
  </em>
  <span>demanding against Dedue’s turquoise ones. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I trust you, too. With every fiber of my being. With my whole soul and heart.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dedue can see him clearly, in the future. Older and happier, a crown adorning his beautiful, blond hair. Looking at him with fondness, and the right amount of </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Of longing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dedue forces himself to stop fantasizing about things that are not even remotely possible.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can you tell me… Can you tell me about your culture? Your celebrations? Your offerings?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And Dedue does. He talks to him about how the god of the sky and the god of the earth fought and made Duscur flourish with a fertile land and honorable people whose word didn’t need to be written to be truthful. He tells him about their dances to the god of war, swinging blades as they danced, playing melodies of centuries. He swallows, hard, pain threatening to break him from inside. He remembers how much his blood boiled when he was told he was not old enough to wield a sword in those dances, that it was too dangerous, that he was not ready.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But Dedue keeps talking.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>About the songs parents used to hum to their kids before bedtime to protect them from both nightmares and real dangers. His father’s voice as he sang, voice deep and sweet, and Dedue wondered if he could sing like that one day. About clothes and materials, the ones he used to wear, the sturdy armors warriors wore, the ornamental ones when there was something important to celebrate, full of grey and deep blue.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t mention his father’s forge, his mother’s smile, his sister’s beautiful hair. But he remembers. He tries to remember them like this, and not with their clothes bloody, inert on the ground while he was lucky enough to survive.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lucky enough to find some kindness in the middle of a massacre.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That’s when Dimitri interrupts him, paler than usual, clearly exhausted but trying not to show it. Dark thoughts seem to plague him as he hesitates to open his mouth, but Dedue just nods, encouraging him, though he is barely holding himself together.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What about death? What happens to people when they die?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dimitri seems to regret the question as soon as it leaves his mouth. It feels like a compulsion, really, like being unable to stop himself. Desperate, at the brink of something that Dedue can still not place. Before he can apologize and drop the subject, Dedue talks. Because this feels important, and he wants to understand. He wants to help, like Dimitri has helped him. He wants to offer him his hand, only for Dimitri to take it and never let go.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No matter how much it hurts. He wants to be strong, for those who cannot anymore, but mostly for those who, like him, survived and will be able to, one day.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“When people die, their body and soul serve a greater purpose. Bodies nurture the land, and they allow the living to eat and work. Souls nurture our hearts, our memories.” he says, a knot in his throat, unable to breathe properly. “We honor them, as they do not leave entirely, and keep pushing us to a better future.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That seems to make something click inside of Dimitri’s brain. He smiles, but it feels slightly sad. The gesture doesn’t reach his eyes, and Dedue wants to do something, anything, so whatever is plaguing him feels a little better.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That… That sounds beautiful. It is beautiful indeed, Dedue.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hadn’t really thought about it, the same way you don’t think about the way the rain falls, or the way the sun rises each morning. You may wonder about the whys, but in the end, it’s something that just </span>
  <em>
    <span>happens</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Things just were, and he was there to witness them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What is death like for you?” he asks instead, feeling it’s a touchy subject. Because he wants to help, but also because he wants to understand. “For the people in Faerghus, I mean.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dimitri is close to him, maybe closer than they should ever be. Nobody’s around, nobody who could see. His Highness’ reputation is not in danger, it will not be tarnished like it was when Dedue didn’t know better. No matter how much he desires their closeness, he cannot allow it. He still doesn’t make a move, doesn’t say a word. He cannot find the strength to do so.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“For us… when you die, you move on, to meet the Goddess.” Dimitri answers, and his voice sounds eerie, like coming from somewhere far, far away. Somewhere where Dedue cannot quite reach him. The thought terrifies him. “... under certain circumstances, at least.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Certain circumstances?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dimitri nods, increasingly paler. Dedue frowns in worry, but says nothing. Being too insistent would make Dimitri stop talking entirely.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If you have done… questionable things when you are still alive, you will fall victim to the Eternal Flames. Some kind of eternal, painful punishment.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dedue nods, because that does sound familiar, given that Duscur had accepted the Goddess in ther pantheon, back in the day. Dimitri keeps talking, though.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There is another way. Another thing that can happen to you, after you die.” he says, and Dedue braces himself, because Dimitri’s voice is shaking. “If… If you die a very painful death, a violent one, and you die with regrets…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your Highness-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“These regrets chain you to the world of the living. Full of anger, fear, hopelessness. Unable to move on.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dimitri’s eyes are open wide and wet, looking at him with so much raw pain that this time, Dedue cannot stop himself. He hugs him, close, Dimitri’s trembling body against his. He hopes that his warmth can make him come back from wherever he is.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I have… I have to help them. Dedue, I have to help them… Please…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dedue’s lips are on Dimitri’s hair when he buries his face on his shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably. He doesn't seem to notice the absolutely improper gesture, but Dedue does, blushing furiously and reprimanding himself for his audacity.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I am here. I am here."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He tries to sound convincing. A rock against Dimitri’s dark waves, trying to anchor him. Dimitri has probably noticed, though, because of the way he hugs him back, so desperately it's almost violent: Dedue is crying, too.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A sea storm meets the sturdy cliffs in a strong embrace. Both of them are shaking, mumbling both apologies and words of comfort. Dimitri is so strong he could break anything and anyone, but he doesn’t. He is gentle even among the fear and desperation, even when his thoughts are dark, and his feelings darker.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dedue doesn’t really know what love is, but he believes he is starting to understand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Please, Dedue, don’t leave… Please, come with me to my chambers… please…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dedue swallows, hard, because he wants to, he really, </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>wants to. But he can’t.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, your Highness, but it wouldn’t be wise to-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And Dimitri freezes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I understand. You don’t have to apologize.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dimitri’s arms fall to his sides, and Dedue lets him move. The moment is over, and it’s like dealing with a hole inside of his chest, craving to be filled even if he knows it cannot be. He would rather deal with Dimitri’s anger, than with his reputation being tarnished forever.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He can deal with anger, but sadness and disappointment hurt much, much more. He realises now, he is not the only one feeling this way. And he doesn’t know who is punishing them both, if it’s the Goddess of Fódlan, or the gods of Duscur.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t really know, but he thinks of a prayer nevertheless. A plea.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I should be the one apologizing, Dedue. I am sorry. I really am.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dedue really does feel like crying again, but he just breathes in, and tries his best to let the feeling go. For Dimitri, and for himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can accompany you still. To ensure your rest.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dimitri smiles slightly, his expression still messy. Dedue smiles back, a little weakly, but it’s still there. Like him, like them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There will come a day in which you can say yes to me. I swear. You have my word.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dedue nods, and chooses to believe him. As always.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>:)</p><p>I mean, I'm prayforfroot on twitter lmao</p><p>Also yes, the cultural references? They're references to basque culture. I'm basque, i felt similarities with how duscur was portrayed ingame, and i said fuck it my city now. i'm sorry</p></blockquote></div></div>
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